| «Don't let a good thing die
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| Cause honey you know, I’ll never lie to you»
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| With all the beauty in my life, hit the mic 'till the lights out
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| Bet Barrack play this in the White House when his wife’s out
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| I got that good shit, hood shit
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| Purple with them orange veins
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| People say that yours taste like a wood chip
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| You rookies push shit, million dollar rapper, DiBiase on the mic
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| While you all is sloppy like the brothers Bushwack
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| Pop had put his cock in momma’s bush back
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| In '78, the doc saw my face and tried to push back
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| Wear helmets on all limbs or all ribs broken
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| I’m an angel of death and death adapt and taking what the Lord gives
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| What gives? |
| Every written’s all fibs
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| Ya’ll bids phony, fishier than dolphins
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| You’re mermaids, sayin' Verb ain’t relevant
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| It’s like using dog bags pickin' up the turd of an elephant
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| Sayin' you ain’t feelin' it, you full of shit, fell in it
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| Wipe off and shut your mic off before I yell in it
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| «Don't let a good thing die»
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| See any day could be your last, quit living in the past kid
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| «Don't let a good thing die»
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| You want drama, take a class, get your PhD
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| «Don't let a good thing die»
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| See any moment I could pop out and leave you seein' asterisks
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| «Don't let a good thing die»
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| Cause when it comes to spittin' raps I got my PhD
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| Now Verbal’s said he’s having fun
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| So I said «Fuck it let me join in.»
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| No avoidin' it, appointed let the static run
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| These half-a-ton rappers claiming they ready
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| I have the sun wrapped around my neck, chain gettin' heavy
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| I got the planets aligning with the planning to sign it
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| Then have them standing in line to see me ranting and rhyming
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| They gassing you up with all those additives lying
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| You buying that shit, what kind of fucking planet am I in?
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| I’m off that, respect gettin' respect it’s nothing left for the rest
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| I fucking called it so I’m getting it next
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| I got the shit to make 'em fucking feel something deep and something real
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| Surface-level rappers wonder why they don’t fucking appeal
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| We give them real shit, real shit
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| I want to be that rapper that they feel like they could go get a meal with
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| Or split a cab with or share a tab with
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| My mother call me Chris, I give a fuck about this rap shit |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Good Things Die , by - Ugly Heroes. Song from the album Ugly Heroes, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп